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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26591956">Cornflower Blue</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/steviatea/pseuds/steviatea'>steviatea</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Better Call Saul (TV), Breaking Bad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Developing Friendships, Gen, Hospitals, Languages and Linguistics, Organized Crime, Post-Canon, Recovery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 02:34:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,331</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26591956</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/steviatea/pseuds/steviatea</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Lalo befriends Heisenberg's last surviving victim.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lalo Salamanca &amp; Lydia Rodarte-Quayle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Visitation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><i>"Be gay, do crime."</i><br/>- Unknown</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lalo was no inexperienced man; he was more than accustomed to keeping tabs on the status of the drug trade. It was pure luck that he’d managed to avoid a single firsthand encounter with the infamous Heisenberg. Well, maybe it was less about luck and more about common sense; anyone in the cartel with half a brain would avoid that bastard like the plague.</p><p>The good news is that he’d died before he had the chance to personally fuck Lalo over; he’d consider himself relieved over one less threat to the business he so loyally worked in.</p><p>There was one person left over from the deceased Heisenberg’s <em>ragtag gang of meth geniuses.</em> One singular <em> drug lord </em> had survived: a woman by the name of Lydia Rodarte-Quayle. What a name that was. Apparently, one of the last things Walter White had done was poison the woman before he himself had died.</p><p>Lalo had hired a private eye to scope the situation out, and hilariously enough, the man had literally told Lydia that he’d poisoned her, giving her time to call an ambulance and wind up hospitalized. When the guy Lalo hired informed him of this, Lalo couldn’t help but laugh out loud. How stupid could the guy have been, giving his own future-victim a head start on surviving his attempt at murder? <em> Really </em> stupid, apparently.</p><p>Anyways, now Lalo was here in Houston to see this victim of Heisenberg’s. A head of drug distribution with that much power, sickly or not, had secrets and Lalo intended to observe her, at the very least.</p><p>Of course, he hadn’t arrived with empty hands, as that would’ve been downright rude. After sweet talking the doctors and nurses and claiming to be a friend of the poisoning victim, Lalo entered her hospital room with a bouquet of fresh flowers. Carnations, all brilliant and vibrant in hue, were neatly arranged in a fancy vase he carried to her hospital room. That vase would serve as a gift and a peace offering, if this whole interaction ended up going well.</p><p>Lalo had heard some intensely fucked up stuff about her through the grapevine, like how she’d hired a group of skinheads that had a fucking <em> meth cook slave </em> making their shit, continuing Heisenberg’s legacy. Jesus, Lalo had done some bad shit in his life, but anyone in cahoots with that Heisenberg guy was surely fucked up.</p><p>Yet, once he stepped into Lydia’s hospital room, he found himself struck with a sudden burst of uncertainty. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but this wasn’t it. Rhythmic beeping and whirring of medical equipment filled the room, and there was Lydia herself: laying in bed, hooked up to an IV drip and a ventilator.</p><p>Lalo wasn’t sure what he was expecting; maybe a buff, angry-looking lady with hundreds of Nazi tattoos on her arms. What the hell was he supposed to expect? Yet, the woman in this intensive care room was frail, small, and paler than a goddamn ghost. Lalo had learned, from the grapevine, hat Lydia was here because someone put ricin into her <em> chamomile tea with soy milk and stevia. </em></p><p>Lalo’s initial reaction when he heard about that was nothing short of, <em> ‘What the fuck is stevia?’ </em></p><p>As Lalo stepped further into the room, he wondered just who he was about to interact with. Gustavo Fring had been kind of terrifying, so he’d have to choose his words carefully around the woman who’d inherited his job. He started off simple, with a polite smile and a, “Hi there.”</p><p>Lydia’s green eyes immediately flitted to Lalo, wide, bloodshot, and startled like a deer in headlights. She said nothing in response, not a single utterance, but she appeared to be terrified. Shit, that’s right; she was on a ventilator. This was the goddamn intensive care unit, give or take. So, she was essentially mute for the time being, then. Another Hector Salamanca-type situation, it would seem. Oh, man, how much better could this get? Another powerful mob boss that was completely incapacitated; seeing this woman in such a vulnerable position made him all the more motivated to win her over.</p><p>Well, from the business standpoint, that was; there weren’t any ulterior motives in the sexual sense. Lalo much preferred the male physique when it came to choice of intimate partners. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t fight tooth and nail for Lydia’s approval.</p><p>He set down the flowers on her bedside table, smiling in the most good-natured manner he possibly could. Lydia watched as he did so and suddenly raised a shaky hand to her ventilator tubes, looking as if she was going to rip them out. Perhaps it was so she could object to what was going on right now, or maybe she was simply freaking out and attempting to speak. Either way, she was gonna fucking die if she took that out, and, <em> that </em> wasn’t good.</p><p>“Everything is going to be okay,” Lalo interrupted her, reaching forward to very cautiously block her hand from removing the tubing. He gently took her hand into his and lowered her hand, free hand held up in a defensive pose, but not an aggressively defensive one. It was a simple gesture to indicate his lack of intent to cause harm. “I’m just here as a visitor. Don’t go unplugging ventilation and shit for conversation.”</p><p>Lydia’s eyes filled with tears, her hand still shaking as Lalo withdrew from her. It was obvious that she wanted to say something to him, and it must’ve been killing her to not be able to. Well, in reality it was quite the opposite; not speaking was saving her, because she was recovering from ricin poisoning. Still, this probably counted as some form of psychological torture for her.</p><p>“You get that many visitors here?” Lalo tentatively asked her.</p><p>Lydia slowly shook her head. <em> No. </em> She looked downward, clearly uncomfortable with the fact that there was a stranger in the room. She looked to the flowers and gestured to them with her hand. It was difficult to discern what she was trying to communicate, but that was fine enough.</p><p>“I was hoping they’d liven up the place,” Lalo casually told her, taking a seat in the rather comfortable chair beside the hospital bed.  “They’re carnations. I read that they’re good for hospitals ‘cause there isn’t all that much pollen.”</p><p>He looked to the assortment of machines keeping Lydia alive, from ventilators to intravenous fluids to catheters and god knows what else. Honestly, Lalo was surprised she was even allowed to be awake. Someone up their own ass with morals might call this karma, but Lalo felt sort of impressed that she’d survived this long.</p><p>“My name is Eduardo Salamanca,” he introduced, his tone gentle. “You can call me Lalo. I prefer Lalo.”</p><p>Lydia leveled an untrusting look at him, as if she potentially knew who he was. The likelihood, if she’d been close to Gus Fring at all, was pretty high. </p><p>Pausing momentarily and realizing what he’d just said, Lalo couldn’t help but cringe at his own choice of wording. Maybe introducing the <em> Salamanca </em> part of his name had been a quick mistake to make, but it wasn’t as if Lydia was in any position to get him killed right now, so he figured he’d keep going.</p><p>His eyes flitted back to the ventilator tubing. “Shit, I guess you can’t call me anything right now. Sorry. Maybe once you’re off the ventilator.” He smiled rather modestly, scratching his head and averting his gaze. “I’ve heard some incredible things about your distribution skills, though. Heard you took over after Fring died. That’s pretty hardcore. Heard you can speak German, too. Is that true?”</p><p>Lydia winced, but she nodded her head affirmatively. Lalo retrieved a tissue for her—one of those cheap, scratchy hospital tissues—and handed it to her.</p><p>“Sorry if this is uncomfortable or scary for you,” he told Lydia in the most gentle, compassionate manner he could muster, as if he was speaking to his own mother. “It’s just that you remind me of someone in my family that passed recently.”</p><p>Only at the exact same time that Gus Fring died, of course. Lalo had never been all that close to Hector, to be honest; Hector had been a crotchety old asshole.</p><p>Maybe it was out of place to seek business with a woman who appeared terrified of him, but Lalo liked to consider himself more diplomatic.</p><p>Wiping her eyes with the tissue, Lydia was rather despondent. Such  a reaction was understandable, probably. Maybe. It wasn’t like Lalo really knew her yet.</p><p>“Being multilingual, that’s a strength. I bet German was a hard language to learn.” Staring at the flowers, Lalo considered what else to say. If he’d had a little German knowledge of his own, that probably would’ve come in handy way back when he’d been looking for Werner Ziegler.</p><p>Looking back at Lydia, Lalo spoke again. “You want a pen and paper?”</p><p>When Lydia replied with an affirmative nod, Lalo wasted no time with retrieving a notepad from one of the tables in the room. He handed it over to Lydia and she began to scrawl out a response. It took quite some for her to write, her hand unstable and her body barely moving. She winced as the IV in her arm bent with her movement, but within a few moments, she handed the paper back to Lalo. Writing in her position seemed to be like pulling teeth.</p><p>Lalo read over the paper:</p><p>
  <em> ‘Are you here to kill me?’ </em>
</p><p>Her writing was near-illegible, but her question was clear enough. Lalo stared at the paper for another good few seconds, taking a deep breath. “Nope.” He shook his head, handing the paper back to her. “Actually, I was interested in working with you. You still got connections?”</p><p>Lydia takes a long time to write a response. </p><p>‘<em>I have connections with prospective clients in the Czech Republic, and logistics management with Madrigal Electromotive. I’m capable of handling distribution if I’ve got a product to sell.’ </em></p><p>Lalo smiled as he read over the paper. “That’s fantastic, Lydia. You know, I can cover the rest, if you’re up for the job. Well, uh, once you heal up, obviously.” Raising his eyebrows, he added, “You’re resilient. Not everyone can survive what you’re going through.”</p><p>In response to that, Lydia subtly nodded her head, sadness in her eyes. She wasn’t fond of eye contact, it seemed; she was a nervous type, maybe would’ve been flighty or awkward had she not been entirely bedridden and incapacitated.</p><p><em> ‘How did you find me?’ </em> Lydia wrote to Lalo, managing a fleeting moment of eye contact before she handed the paper over for him to read. <em> ‘What are you going to do if I say no? Would you try to kill me then? I have a daughter. I have to live for her.’ </em></p><p>Reading over the scrawled words, it took a few moments for Lalo to comprehend the woman’s handwriting. It was shaky and not entirely legible, but as he read the latter sentence, he couldn’t help but feel some pity for Lydia. “If you say no, I can just go home and we can pretend like this never happened,” he answered with a shrug of his shoulders. “I’m not gonna threaten my way into working together. You’re already hospitalized, anyways.”</p><p>Lydia appeared to be somewhat surprised by his response, if the shift in facial expression was any indication of that. She looked down at the paper in her unsteady hands, still gripping onto the hospital-supplied pen.</p><p><em> ‘Promise me my daughter and I will be safe,’ </em> she wrote back, <em> ‘and I’ll do my best. I don’t know if I’ll live long enough to work again, but I won’t be able to manage things entirely on my own, given the circumstances of how many laws I’ve broken.’ </em></p><p>“Hey, a broken law or two never scared me. You got yourself a deal,” Lalo replied upon reading her response. “Hey, I’m no <em> Gus Fring </em> when it comes to being elaborately rich and shit, but I’ll make sure you keep getting good care while you’re here.”</p><p>The mention of Fring’s name seemed to strike a chord within Lydia, as her expression noticeably shifted to one of recognition and understanding. She didn’t attempt to respond, however, not through writing. She seemed like she was on the verge of sleep, in fact, and it wasn’t long before a nurse entered the room to tell Lalo that visiting hours were over.</p><p>“Rest well, okay?” Lalo said with a wave goodbye. “I’ll see you soon.”</p><p>Lydia gave a small, meek wave <em> goodbye </em> in response before Lalo left the room.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Doing a little research on who he was about to work with wouldn’t hurt. After driving through the insanely backed up Houston traffic, he made his way back to the hotel he’d made his reservations for. Once settled in, he logged onto his laptop to work on some extended background checks on Lydia Rodarte-Quayle.</p><p>What a name that was. Why have two last names when she could easily just have one? The fortunate thing about her incredibly unique name was that Lalo didn’t have to search very extensively for her name online to find public information about her.</p><p><em> Head of Logistics at Madrigal Electromotive GmbH, </em> whatever <em> that </em> entailed. There were several articles published online about various awards she’d won and achievements she had related to her work with logistics. No living relatives, either, aside from one daughter named Kiira Rodarte-Quayle.</p><p>High-profile enough to be known by the general public, but not socially relevant enough to be missed if she were to relocate to a new occupation — that’s what Lalo liked to hear.</p><p>Admittedly, he <em> did </em> need someone with those distribution skills if the Cartel had any hope left for it. The sooner Lalo could pick up where that Heisenberg asshole left off, the safer he and his family below the border would be.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Lalo returned the next day with a <em> get well </em> card he’d obtained from a local <em> Walgreens </em> pharmacy. The card, which he’d expertly selected with his own artistic eye, had puppies with lab coats printed on it.</p><p><em> ‘Wishing you a paw-sitively fast recovery! </em>’</p><p>Lalo was sure to sign his name on it, because why not? If he was the one laying torturously alone in a hospital after being poisoned then he’d want that same kindness extended to him.</p><p>Lydia seemed happy to receive the card. Well, maybe <em> happy </em> wasn’t the right word, because she was quite sedated and couldn’t smile with a bunch of tubes down her throat. She did appear more content than before, if not somewhat impressed.</p><p>She already had a pen and a notepad ready this time, and didn’t hesitate to write, <em> ‘Thank you.’ </em></p><p>Lalo grinned when he read her reaction. “You like it? I thought the puppies were a nice touch. I’m more of a cat person myself, if I’m being honest.”</p><p><em> ‘I’ve never had a pet before,’ </em> Lydia wrote back.</p><p>Furrowing his eyebrows, Lalo contemplated that for a moment. “I had a <em> gato </em> when I was growing up, super huge calico cat. He was technically a stray but I fed him whenever he walked up to my house. Little dude used to rub up against my leg and purr real loud.”</p><p>Thinking back, Lalo considered that he may have nicknamed that cat Diego. The memory made him smile.</p><p>“My cousin Tuco was a total bully, and I remember one time he tried to kick my ass over some small disagreement and the cat, like, jumped on him and scratched the shit out of him.” Lalo couldn’t help but laugh a little at the memory.</p><p>Lydia was already writing rather quickly, seeming to have gained some confidence back, or at least a conversational level of curiosity. That was great news, because Lalo had a million stories he could tell about his family members</p><p>
  <em> ‘Did your cousin kill the cat?’ </em>
</p><p>The response caused Lalo to fall pensive for a moment. “No, fortunately not. Cats are good at running away. Tío saw what Tuco was doing and beat the shit out of him, so I really got saved by that cat.”</p><p>Lydia wrote something in response and handed the paper to Lalo. Looking over it, he couldn’t make any sense of what it said.</p><p>
  <em> ‘Schadenfreude.’ </em>
</p><p>“Is that German?” Lalo cautiously asked. Oh, man, he was really regretting his lack of German knowledge now. What if it meant <em> ‘Go fuck yourself?’ </em> or something? Frowning, he handed the paper back to Lydia. “Sorry, I don’t get it.”</p><p>Lydia raised her eyebrows as if she’d just had a moment of some kind, nodding as quickly she could without dislodging the ventilator. She elaborated in writing.</p><p>
  <em> ‘Schadenfreude — to take pleasure out of someone else’s suffering.’ </em>
</p><p>Lalo grinned. “That’s a real word? Damn, I might have to take some German lessons and catch up to where you’re at. Are you from Germany?”</p><p>Lydia hesitated for a moment, an uncertain expression in her eyes. She wrote back, however, explaining, <em> ‘I’m from Houston, but I know German. I’ve been told I don’t have the best pronunciation, but that's beyond the point.’ </em></p><p>“Aw,” Lalo replied after reading her response. “That’s okay. I don’t even know what your voice sounds like. When are you coming off of that ventilator?”</p><p>That earned a glare from Lydia. <em> ‘Once I’m dead, probably,’ </em> she wrote back, clearly not impressed by the inquiry.</p><p>Lalo winced, not particularly excited about the reply he’d received. “Do you <em> want </em> to die?”</p><p><em> ‘No,’ </em> Lydia wrote back. <em> ‘I admittedly don’t feel optimistic nowadays, but I cannot leave my child completely parentless. I’ll live like this for as long as possible if it means I can go home to her and Delores.’ </em></p><p>“Who’s Delores?” Lalo asked. “Is that your wife?”</p><p>Lydia’s eyes widened, and if Lalo had to make an assumption, he’d guess that Delores was <em> probably </em> her lover.</p><p>Lydia snapped out of whatever daydream she was in to write, <em> ‘She’s my nanny, but I am fond of her. I don’t want to lose her.’ </em></p><p>“You won’t lose her,” Lalo reassured Lydia, placing a supportive hand upon hers. She had an incredibly small hand; easy to break, but Lalo wasn’t interested in doing that. He knew enough about Lydia’s previous engagements with Gus Fring, but he considered himself more optimistic than the late Hector Salamanca.</p><p>Lalo reflected on the first night he’d arrived in Houston, overhearing an obnoxiously loud Texan dude talking about whatever sports were on television, "<em> If you can’t beat them, join them." </em></p><p>It sounded kind of inspirational, even if it was spoken from the mouth of a guy who probably voted for <em> George Bush </em> . Yikes. Thank <em>god</em> Lalo didn’t live in America full-time.</p><p>Anyways, that dude’s quote rang true; Lalo wasn’t the kind of sick fuck that’d beat on a woman, and Lydia was evidently too intelligent to give up her life out of fear of what could happen. Lalo liked that about her.</p><p>“How fluent are you in English?” Lalo asks, and admittedly he’s testing her a little bit, because he’d like to know how skilled she is in the greatest white girl ability of all: falsifying stupidity.</p><p>Lalo must’ve done something right, as Lydia suddenly began writing very quickly.</p><p>
  <em> ‘That’s insulting. I graduated from Rice University. I have more than a comprehensive grasp on the English language, Lalo.’ </em>
</p><p>“As long as you didn’t graduate <em> ricin </em> university,” Lalo replied playfully. This didn’t fare well with Lydia, apparently, because she was looking at Lalo like she wanted to murder him. “Sorry, that was too soon.”</p><p><em> ‘Walter Hartwell White poisoned me,’ </em> Lydia wrote to Lalo without hesitation, her words scrawled with a degree of anger that Lalo couldn’t help but feel impressed about. <em> ‘Take this up with him if you’re here to joke about my suffering.’ </em></p><p>Christ, who the hell used <em>ricin</em> anyways? Why not something more standard, like cyanide? Heisenberg had to have been a real sick fucker to poison such an adorable little woman. Sure, maybe she'd committed her fair share of heinous crimes, but so had Lalo. That didn't mean she deserved to go like she would have if not for the elaborate hospital care.</p><p>“That’s kind of the whole reason I’m here,” Lalo admitted, taking a deep breath and exhaling it rather calmly.  It was a genuine calmness he felt on account of truly not caring about Heisenberg. Still, he wanted to get on Lydia Rodarte-Quayle’s good side, so he spoke to her in a gentle tone. “I was planning on killing him myself, but here’s the thing, Lydia: he died.”</p><p>Lalo anticipated tears or shock from Lydia, but instead received a note that said, <em> ‘Oh, thank god.’ </em> Was she smiling? It was hard to tell, but she looked relieved at the very least.</p><p>“Yeah. That's pretty much what I said when I found out. It’s all over the news that he kicked the bucket recently. Apparently, the guy died inside of a meth lab. I mean, shit, what are the odds?” Lalo shrugged his shoulders. “So, you’re not upset or anything? Not grieving? I heard you worked with the guy.”</p><p>
  <em> ‘This is the best news I’ve gotten since he poisoned me, believe it or not. I was planning on having him killed myself, so that really takes care of things. I suppose we’d have that in common.’ </em>
</p><p>“Aw,” Lalo replied, suddenly feeling a bit endeared to Lydia. “I guess that is some important common ground. How’d you feel knowing that the Nazi freaks you worked with ended up dead, though? Was that Todd Alquist <em> hijo de puta </em> important to you, like, at all?”</p><p>That question did earn an uncomfortable look from Lydia, but she still wrote back, <em> ‘Todd’s dead?’ </em></p><p>“Him and all those other guys, in the same compound that Walter White died in.” Lalo answered, gesturing vaguely to the television in the hospital room. It was turned off, of course, for realistic reasons. Lydia must not have been wanted by the law; even if she wasn’t, she’d have some serious paying up to do. “Were you close?”</p><p>
  <em> ‘Oh, my god. No, we weren’t close at all. I found him incredibly unnerving, to be honest. I planned on having him killed as well once I was financially secure enough. How did Todd die?’ </em>
</p><p>“I don’t know,” Lalo replied with a shrug; full honesty in exchange for honesty, though he was evidently amused by how cold Lydia was about her former employees. “I don’t really give a shit how he died. Do you?”</p><p>Lydia winced, looking down at her paper before she decided to write more. <em> ‘Only if it leads back to me, from a legal trouble standpoint. I don’t need police officers questioning me because I happened to have hired him for a brief period of time.’ </em></p><p>“You weren’t there, Lydia, so it won’t lead back to you. You’re gonna need to get out of here quickly once you’re recovered enough to talk, though, unless you’re a fan of <em> bacon </em>.”</p><p><em> ‘I prefer quinoa,’ </em> Lydia replied in writing, rolling her eyes.</p><p>Lalo laughed. “I’m sure you do. You’re gonna need a new identity if you want to keep living, though, seriously. It’s only a matter of time before people start questioning something as serious as a ricin poisoning.” </p><p>There came a time in every young woman’s life that she had to learn not to work with Neo-Nazis. Lalo just had to give it to her straight.</p><p>“The bad news is that some Nazi fucks who used to know Todd are probably gonna start talking. People like Todd, they have connections, and they’re people you need to avoid like the goddamn plague. From now on, more paling around with fuckin’ <em> Nazis </em> , you understand? If you see anyone toting around a Swastika, you turn around and make sure <em> they </em> get the bullet. You think you can manage that line of work?”</p><p>He could see that Lydia was shivering. Lalo decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and drew some of the disheveled hospital bed blankets over her small body.  Lydia was only in her thirties; it could be easy to say that she simply got <em> mixed up </em> with the wrong crowd. </p><p>Lalo smiled sympathetically as Lydia began to scrawl something in response, of which she handed over  to Lalo rather easily.</p><p>
  <em> ‘I wouldn’t mind managing that. I don’t want my daughter growing up and learning who I employed before recently. It’d ruin my relationship with her years down the line. Where should we start?’ </em>
</p><p>“We start by tearing up everything you just wrote down,” Lalo replied, taking the notebook and beginning to shred the paper she’d written on. “Then, you get to go to sleep and dream about what kind of name you want for you, your kid, and Delores. Works best if you all have the same name.” He set the rest of the paper down beside Lydia, which she accepted and began to write on again.</p><p>
  <em> ‘Delores doesn’t know anything about what I’ve done. I don’t want to involve her in organized crime.’ </em>
</p><p><em> “You’re </em> organized crime, Lydia. She’s already involved if you’re paying for her services with drug money.”</p><p>Lydia seemed disappointed to hear that, but she nodded understandingly. Oh, she did know very well what she was doing, to some extent. Lalo needed to turn this conversation around, to go somewhere happier. They could save the heavy, terrifying conversational topics for later, perhaps.</p><p>“Anyway, I want to get to know you before we seal any deals as far as business goes. What’s your favorite color?” Lalo decidedly asked. “That’s off topic, but, like, I’m curious. Before we commit any major, life-risking crimes together, we’ve got to be friends.”</p><p><em> ‘Kornblumenblau,’</em> Lydia answered.</p><p>Lalo stared at whatever the hell Lydia just wrote, trying to make sense of it. “I’m <em>kinda</em> embarrassed to say this, but I don’t know German.”</p><p>Lydia rolled her eyes and wrote under the previous entry, <em> ‘Cornflower blue. It’s like a sky blue color. No relation to the Blue Sky product. I also like salmon, as in the color. I’m impartial to the animal. What is your favorite color?’ </em></p><p>“I like purple,” Lalo replied. “Also, like, dark blue is fantastic as well, like a night sky. Darker than cornflowers, I guess. The Spanish word for blue is <em> azul.”  </em></p><p>
  <em> ‘I already know Spanish on a conversational level, but the reminders do help. Can you teach me some cartel terms?’ </em>
</p><p>Lalo really didn’t want Lydia knowing anything related to the cartel. “No,” he told Lydia. “I won’t. All you have to do is <em> be yourself, </em> and if any cops come asking about who you are, tell them you’ve got irritable bowel syndrome.”</p><p>‘<em>That’s all?’ </em> Lydia didn’t seem convinced. <em> ‘That can't be the extent of it. I know I've broken the law. Sooner or later, what I've done is going to catch up on me, and I get the feeling it's going to be soon.’ </em></p><p>Lalo didn’t know, either. “I’ll bring you some books to read while you’re here to take your mind off those kinds of thoughts. It'll help with all of that anxiety you're having, hopefully.” Nothing based on reality, of course, and no stories or nonfictions related to criminal activity; strictly fictitious, maybe something simple, intended for children. “Something you can read to your daughter once you get your voice back. You like Dr. Seuss?”</p><p>
  <em> ‘Dr. Seuss would be perfect. My daughter loves those books.’ </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Lydia Lives in the End</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Lalo stopped by to visit again after the next few days, Lydia was finally off the ventilator. He was surprised to see her entire face, and when she noticed him walking in with a sizable cardboard box full of books, she actually smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lalo,” she croaked, her voice quiet and small. “I’m surprised you came back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lalo was honestly surprised by how quickly this fucked up little lady was growing on him. “Hey, Lydia! You got your voice back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just barely,” Lydia replied hoarsely , her hands fidgeting nervously. “I’ve been told that the longer you’re on a ventilator, the more likely it is that you’ll stay on it forever. I really don’t like those odds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, shit, it’s a good thing that the odds weren’t stacked against you,” Lalo replies, setting down the box on the side table. “I brought a bunch of books and some DVDs so you’ll have shit to do while you’re alone, or with your kid. Have you seen her yet since you got here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A couple of times,” Lydia replied, her voice listless as she reflected on her memories. Already, she was on the verge of tears. “I didn’t want her seeing me the way I was even a few days ago. Her and Delores are stopping by to visit some time today, if you want to meet them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was a nice offer; how the hell had this woman managed to become such a successful distributor? She seemed so normal, so down-to-earth. “I don’t see why not. You can read some Dr. Seuss to your kid when she gets here, exercise those lungs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to sound terrible,” Lydia glumly lamented, sitting up and taking a peek inside of the box. “You brought movies, too? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Beetlejuice?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Lalo nodded enthusiastically, taking the DVD case out and handing it to Lydia. “Yeah, there’s a kid named Lydia in the movie, so I thought you’d appreciate that representation for your people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lydia squinted as she examined the DVD case. “My people, huh? I surprisingly haven’t seen this one. I’ve missed out on a lot of movies people deem classic. There’s really another Lydia in the movie, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not so bad. Lydia </span>
  <em>
    <span>lives</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the end,” Lalo reassured her, looking at the cover of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Horton Hears a Who!</span>
  </em>
  <span> as he spoke. “This one, you might like better. It’s got a good message. You know, Dr. Seuss had a strong opposition to fascism.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did he?” Lydia asked rather flatly, still staring at the Beetlejuice cover. “I’ve never read his books before. I didn’t have the privilege of bedtime stories when I was younger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For real?” Lalo asked, surprised to hear that. “What was your family like, coming up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nonexistent,” Lydia admitted, her voice cracking as she spoke. Green hues evaded eye contact as she spoke, visibly anxious about the conversational topic. “My mother abandoned me when I was young, left me at a bus stop. I eventually got taken into a group home. The women running the house were cruel and the girls bullied me endlessly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lydia ran a hand over her forehead, sighing shakily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lalo couldn’t help but cringe a bit at that description. “Damn, that’s harsh. I’m sorry to hear that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Lydia replied. “What’s your family like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking down at his hands, frowning, Lalo hesitated to breach the subject. “My immediate family, back in Chihuahua, is wonderful. A lot of other relatives are, uh, pretty </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because of Walter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He killed your family?” Lydia asked, sitting up to meet Lalo’s gaze. Suddenly, she was attentive and curious. “What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t entirely know, since I was avoiding the whole situation, but the guy had a brother-in-law in the DEA who killed </span>
  <em>
    <span>three</span>
  </em>
  <span> of my cousins.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Three of them?” Lydia asked, eyes widening in an expression of shock and perturbation. “Oh, my god. Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was the million dollar question, wasn’t it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lalo sighed, shaking his head in dismay. “He was a racist piece of shit, that’s why.” Never mind the fact that Leonel and Marco had been stone-cold hitmen; Lalo still cared about them and still felt their deaths personally. Hitmen were still </span>
  <em>
    <span>people,</span>
  </em>
  <span> at the end of the day, even if they had a job that most people weren’t willing to accept. “The DEA isn’t gonna racially profile you, so you’re not gonna have to worry about that. I think the best thing you could do is go back to work at Madrigal like none of this ever happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It can’t be that easy,” Lydia replied weakly. “I’m so sorry for your loss, with your cousins, but I’ve dealt with the DEA before and it was terrifying. They’ve raided Madrigal’s warehouses and put trackers on my barrels.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lalo had to pause for a moment, not entirely following what Lydia was talking about. “Your </span>
  <em>
    <span>barrels</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Is that, uh... is that slang for something?” Was it</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My </span>
  <em>
    <span>Methylamine</span>
  </em>
  <span> barrels,” Lydia clarified. “I manage logistics. That includes overseeing the patterns of train trafficking and redirecting Methylamine to...” Lydia trailed off, beginning to well up with tears. “Nobody, now. Lalo, have you ever met meth users in the Czech Republic? Have you ever encountered the wealthiest tweakers in Prague?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Damn, she was emotional about barrels.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that a riddle?” Lalo asked. “No. Are the people there super messed up, or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re my primary clientele, and they’re incredibly wealthy, and wealth means that anyone in Europe who got hooked on Blue Sky is going to notice when I can’t make the shipment. Madrigal’s stock has gone down ever since Los Pollos Hermanos closed down and I don’t know where to turn when my customers get upset about the missing deliveries.” Lydia was speaking quickly, her voice raising about as much as it probably could at this point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, okay, I guess I can understand why you’re nervous about that. You think they’re gonna immigrate all the way to America just to kick your ass? Europe isn’t even the same continent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’ll come for me eventually, Lalo,” Lydia was sure to stress. “Maybe within a year, maybe within the next day. Anyone could come in and smother me with a pillow. It wouldn’t be hard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I don’t really want to fuck with that. You’d do better working with me and my folks. You don’t even need to interact with customers, all you have to do is work your, uh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Madrigal magic</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, isn't your family the same one that killed Gustavo’s lover?” Lydia asked, suddenly hesitant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lalo was a bit stumped there. “Uh, did that happen? I didn’t know Fring had a lover.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m starting to remember some details about Gus’ plans for revenge against Hector, Lalo,” Lydia told him more assertively. “I don’t think he was very fond of you. Are you sure you aren’t here for some... some kind of, I don’t know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>secondhand revenge? </span>
  </em>
  <span>I – I can’t be sure this isn’t an attempt at vengeance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lalo frowned. “It’s an attempt at friendship. I’m gonna be honest, I really don’t have that much left in terms of friends, or accomplices, or whatever. Are you not really into this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lydia hesitated, eyebrows furrowing. “I... I don’t know. Gus was the only friend I had. I’m not used to this sort of thing. What do outlaw friends do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lalo shrugged his shoulders. “Watch Beetlejuice and read kids books, I guess. I can grab you some ice cream, or, like, try and see if I can get you a hot nurse so you got some eye candy while you’re here. You like chicks, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lalo could see Lydia blushing from a mile away, with how pale she was. She coughed, looking down as she began to fidget with her hands nervously. “I wouldn’t mind some more women in the vicinity, if I have to be hospital-bound for a long period of time. Ice cream sounds nice, too, if it’s organic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lalo placed a supportive hand upon Lydia’s shoulder, meeting her anxious and awkward gaze. She had absolutely no charm to her and Lalo loved that about her. “You can have all the women and organic ice cream you could ever hope for, and nobody’s gonna kill you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nobody? Seriously?” Lydia asked with cautiously narrowed eyes. “I mean, forgive me for sounding completely hesitant, but Gus was your enemy. Shouldn’t you logically hate me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Awkward, but kind of feisty. Lalo shrugged his shoulders, uncertain of where to proceed. “Considering we never met, I don’t really have a reason to hate you. What was Gus saying about me, anyways? Was he talkin’ major shit, or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, not... not exactly, no, Gus didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘talk shit’</span>
  </em>
  <span> about anyone,” Lydia answered, rather downhearted about the topic of her late friend, “and I don’t know the full extent of it. I think he just saw you as an obstacle because of your family name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like Fring,” Lalo replied, not really having all that many experiences with Gustavo Fring to begin with. “You were close, though? It’s hard to imagine Gus had feelings to begin with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You evidently didn’t know him at all, then, if that’s what you think,” Lydia murmured, looking away and beginning to tremble. “He was everything to me, really. He wasn’t just my best friend — he was the only man I ever got close to. He was refined and gentle, and he was an incredible businessman.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lalo made a face at that, finding it hard to believe that Gus could’ve been a genial person. “Really? He always looked at me like he wanted to bust my kneecaps.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hearing that seemed to cause a disturbance in Lydia’s grief. She grimaced, looking at Lalo with incredulity. “Did he really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Lalo admitted. “I’m sorry for your loss, though. I guess I’m just surprised to learn that Gus had feelings outside of being territorial about his turf.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry for your loss as well,” Lydia replied, handing the DVD to Lalo. “I had Delores bring my laptop, so if you want to put this in, we can watch the movie.” She then proceeded toward a laptop carrier that rested far out of her own reach, smiling weakly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lalo accepted the DVD and stood up to retrieve the laptop. He handed it to Lydia she began to unpack, taking her computer out. Lalo opened up the DVD case, recently picked up from the nearest </span>
  <em>
    <span>Blockbuster</span>
  </em>
  <span> video store.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here you go,” Lalo casually remarked, handing off the DVD to Lydia and watching as she placed the shiny new disc into the DVD-CD compartment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s do this, then,” Lydia said, playing the movie.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>You can assume that these two, after Lydia is released from the hospital, end up getting into some incredibly illegal antics.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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